


Gold and Emerald

by Raven_WritingDesk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry Potter, Anal Sex, Apprentice Draco Malfoy, Biting, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Cause consent isn't sexy it's required, Confident Harry Potter, Cute Draco Malfoy, Demisexual Draco Malfoy, Draco likes Muggle things, Draco raises plants, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelings, First half takes place in a hospital/inpatient ward, Flirting, Harry Stares a lot, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Just Alpha Harry doesn't mate with an omega, Kind Draco Malfoy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Masterbation, Muggles, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-graphic Mentions of Blood, Non-graphic medical procedure, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Pack Dynamics, Pining, Remus Lupin Lives, Romance, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, St. Mungo's, Top Harry Potter, Werewolf Harry Potter, Werewolves, continuous consent, it makes Draco nervous but in a good way, nothing weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_WritingDesk/pseuds/Raven_WritingDesk
Summary: Draco has just begun his apprenticeship at St. Mungo's. As if his first day wasn't already hard enough, a seriously wounded patient, one that Draco recognizes, is brought onto his ward. Draco is drawn to Harry like a moth to flame, his suppressed feelings flaring to life. He begins to notice strange things the more time he spends with Harry. Though open about most things, Harry has a secret. Draco pieces odd occurrences together until he learns the truth, a truth that will ignite a relationship that Draco never thought he would ever have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 2 chapters. And then it got away from me.   
Unbeta'd, all typos are mine.   
Please be respectful of the work that I have put into this and do not post on other platforms.

Draco drew in a slow breath and adjusted his yellow Healer apprentice robes for the fifth time since he approached the Artifact Accidents ward doors. He shouldn’t be nervous, not really. He’d earned highest marks in every class he attended since being accepted into the Healer training program. This was his first day of clinical training; students will do a one month rotation in each department at St. Mungo’s. Draco didn’t see why this was necessary; he’d chosen his area of practice, treatment of magical maladies, before he was even accepted. He didn’t want to waste valuable time in departments he would never work in. His sole focus was becoming the Master Healer of the Magical Bugs department on the second floor of the hospital. He planned to apply his love of potions to his work, researching and improving current treatments that were lacking, possible even finding cures to the more deadly illnesses. He wouldn’t do it for fame or glory, but rather to make up for the harm he had caused during his time at Hogwarts and the War by saving as many lives as he was able. On a smaller scale, he also hoped that by dedicating his life to serving others, he would earn the wizarding community’s respect. He had enjoyed a certain respect and deference growing up as a member of the Malfoy bloodline. As he aged, however, he realized that this respect was driven by fear; his family was very powerful, which meant that, if they chose, they could bring other less powerful families to ruin. Draco began to notice small signs of this fear at social functions: even the tallest of wizards seemed to shrink while standing next to his father, the witches discretely fiddling with the lace on their sleeves or the clasp of their clutch, eyes surreptitiously searching for an escape. His father would walk away after a conversation ended and Draco saw their shoulders relax and their postures become less rigid. This kind of respect, he decided, was not what he wanted. Draco desired respect that came from his good deeds and betterment of the wizarding community. 

_This is ridiculous_, Draco told himself, _you have done more difficult things than this._ He internally grimaced as he remembered what those things were: surviving in a constant state of terror while the Dark Lord was at the manor, denying that he knew who the battered, bloodied person in their parlor was, even though he knew it was Potter...entering Healer training even as the other students shrank away from him as he passed, whispered, and even insulted him to his face. 

_Enough_, Draco told himself firmly, _walk through the damn door._

Draco squared his shoulders, firmly grasped the handle, and pulled the door open. He strode, back straight as if he hadn’t stalled outside the door for over five minutes, into the ward. The Artifacts Accidents ward was set up like a typical hospital ward: rows of beds separated by curtains bordered the room with a nurses’ station in the middle. Three hallways branched off of the main room, with rooms that housed patients who needed close and prolonged care. It was 7:00 am and there were three patients. As Draco took in their various conditions, his supervising Healer, Penelope Beadle, walked briskly into his periphery, lime green Healer robes billowing behind her. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Healer Beadle said in a kind yet business-like tone, “Welcome to your first day. I trust you are well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco inclined his head, “and yourself?”

Healer Beadle returned his nod, “Quite well, thank you. We have three patients, as you can see, all in various states of injury. You are the first to arrive, thus you may choose which patient you would like to treat.” 

Draco nodded and surveyed the room. One young man, hardly older than himself, had burns from his hands to his elbows and was missing his eyebrows. Cauldron explosion, Draco figured. The boy’s burns were not severe, a simple salve application would do; Draco moved on. He spotted a woman in a Quidditch uniform. She sat with her eyes closed, face scrunched into an expression of pain, holding a bloody towel to her head. 

“I’ll take the woman with the cranial injury.”

“Very well,” Healer Beadle followed as Draco walked to the woman’s cubicle. 

Draco retrieved the woman’s chart from where it hang at the end of her bed. “Hello,” Draco glanced at her name, “Mary, I am Apprentice Malfoy, and this is my supervisor, Healer Beadle. Would you tell me what’s happened?” 

“Bludger clipped me in the head,” Mary spoke in a strained, soft voice, as though talking hurt. 

Draco made a sympathetic sound, “May I take a look?”

“Yes,” She whispered.

Draco pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves before gingerly taking the towel from her. He looked at the injury. Mary had quite the head of hair, he wasn’t going to be able to assess the damage until the site was cleaned. 

He stripped off his gloves and reached into the bedside cupboard, pulling out a bottle of saline, gauze, and a pan to catch the run off. 

“Alright now, Mary. I need to flush out the wound. This is going to be cold, but it shouldn’t burn.” He replaced his gloves and draped a towel over her shoulder. For the next several minutes, Draco gently flushed the wound, Healer Beadle standing by. 

“Good news, Mary. There is a cut in your scalp a couple inches long that can easily be healed. Head wounds tend to bleed quite a bit.”

“Now that we know where the bleeding is coming from, what is your next step?” Healer Beadle asked.

“Though the cut is easily healed, there may be further internal damage. I will order further examination to rule out concussion and intracranial bleeding.”

Healer Beadle nodded, “I will leave you to it, then.” She swept away, heading toward another apprentice.

Draco pulled out a small white slate from a drawer and scribbled down his orders with the attached stylus. The order vanished off the slate, sent to the appropriate Healer.

“Right then, Mary, another Healer will be by to do your tests.” He handed her a pain potion, which she swallowed. Draco took out the medical wand he was issued at the beginning of his training. To avoid contaminating their personal wands, and transmission of disease between patients, Healers used wands that had layers of protective spells embedded into them. He lightly ran the tip over the cut, the skin stitching itself back together. Draco muttered a powerful cleaning charm over his wand. “That should do it. If you need anything, alert one of the nurses.”

Mary opened one eye and nodded slightly, “Thank you.”

Draco exited her cubicle and sighed. His first real patient, complete. He cast a _Tempus_: 7:30 am. Seven and a half hours until his shift was over. Pocketing his wand, Draco moved into the next patient’s cubicle.

___________________________________________________________________________

When 1:30 pm rolled around, Draco was losing steam. Reading about healing and actually doing it are two very different things. He had worked all morning in the main ward. At noon, he and his fellow apprentices accompanied Healer Beadle on her rounds. She quizzed them on various aspects of each patient’s condition and then heard any concerns from the family. Draco closely observed how the patients responded to Healer Beadle’s practiced bedside manner versus his fellow apprentices’. Where Healer Beadle only used medical jargon when necessary, the apprentices used so much Draco doubted the patient or family understood a word. He carefully modeled after Healer Beadle, his expression soft yet professional. He was rewarded with a small smile and nod when he finished speaking. When rounds were over, it was back to treating acute injuries. Draco couldn’t wait to collapse into bed the second he got home.

Draco was just finishing up transferring a patient who’d hexed himself when his wand had back-fired on him during a drunken duel to the fourth floor when a gurney carrying a young man bleeding profusely from his side came speeding through the doors. The ward wasn’t especially large, but in the flurry of activity that started as the young man was wheeled into one of the cubicles, Draco could just barely make out his features. He felt a jolt of adrenaline as he took in the olive skin, black hair and glasses, his mind immediately flying to a face he hadn’t thought of in a long time. The man disappeared behind the curtain and Draco mentally shook himself. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Potter in going on four years. He assumed Potter had gone the route everyone thought he would: joining the Aurors. Draco fell so deep into his own training and just generally trying to live in a world that hated him that he hadn’t thought on it since. 

_But it couldn’t be Potter._

“Mr. Malfoy!” Healer Beadle called, drawing him from his thoughts, “Your assistance, if you please!”

Draco snapped to action, jogging across the ward to where Healer Beadle was casting multiple vital sign charms over her patient. 

“He’s lost quite a bit of blood, I need you to staunch the flow so he doesn’t lose any more,” Healer Beadle’s eyes scanned the read-outs of her charms as she shook her head and called for several vials of blood replenishing potion. 

Draco retrieved some gloves and, aiming his wand at the wound, cast a Stasis charm. The flow of blood stopped immediately, earning a surprised look from Healer Beadle.

“That’s some very creative thinking, Mr. Malfoy,” She sounded impressed. She slipped past him to accept the potions from the nurse. She passed them along to Draco, who uncorked the first one. He turned to bring it to the young man’s mouth and froze. He was, in fact, staring at the face of Harry Potter. Potter’s head listed to one side and his lips were slightly parted. They were as chapped as they always were in school, though still managed to be soft and full. His eyes were closed, but Draco could still see their intense shade of emerald green in his mind’s eye. Potter’s face had changed slightly since graduation, his cheekbones more prominent and his jawline more square. Draco blinked, feeling a sharp pang in his chest, as his eyes traveled down Potter’s neck and shoulder, taking in the muscle shifting under the skin as Potter breathed.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” Healer Beadle broke into his thoughts a second time.

Draco flushed, realizing that he had been staring slack-jawed at Potter for the better part of a minute, “No, I’m sorry, Healer Beadle,” He paused, ”I haven’t seen him since graduating Hogwarts, it was a shock to see him in this state.”

Healer Beadle nodded once, “Can you continue?” 

Draco squared his shoulders, “Yes.”

He resolutely turned back to Potter. Bracing himself, Draco reached out and turned Potter’s head toward him. Draco was wearing gloves but he could still feel the heat radiating from Potter’s skin. Potter made a sound; so he was conscious, at least somewhat. 

Draco pressed the mouth of the vial to Potter’s mouth, “Drink this.”

Potter gave no indication he heard Draco other than opening his mouth a little wider for Draco to pour in the potion. Draco watched as Potter’s adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, then tore his eyes away to uncork the next vial. Potter drank the second vial, his head leaning further toward Draco. Draco disposed of the vials and his current pair of gloves before getting into the cupboard to begin cleaning the wound. He needed to work quickly; the Stasis charm was holding, but the potion would already be replenishing Potter’s blood volume. Setting the supplies on the metal table, Draco realized he couldn’t treat Potter’s wound if he was still wearing his shirt. There was a large hole where the wound was, but the whole thing needed to come off...and seeing as Potter was barely conscious at the moment, Draco would have to remove it for him. 

Draco startled as another apprentice pulled back the curtain dividing the two cubicles, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Healer Beadle, if I could have a moment?” 

Healer Beadle looked questioningly at Draco. 

He nodded, reading her expression. 

She passed him as she moved into the next cubicle and moved the curtain back into place. 

Gritting his teeth, Draco used a pair of scissors to cut into the T-shirt Potter had on. It was burgundy and appeared to have dirt ground into the fabric in some places. That same dirt was smudged on Potter’s face, arms, and pants. 

_What on Earth were you up to, Potter?_

Draco’s thoughts came up short as more of Potter’s chest was exposed. Aside from it being one of the more well-muscled chests he had seen, it was also littered with scars. From small marks to larger cuts, individual or in groups, the more Draco looked the more he saw. His chest panged again.

His emotions around Potter had always been complicated. Yes, he had tormented Potter and made his life at Hogwarts miserable to the best of his ability, to the point where he could say it was his favorite past-time. Seeing Potter’s bright eyes flash and his face contort into anger had sent a thrill through Draco. For a long time he’d told himself, and others, that he was cruel to Potter because he hated him for rejecting him on the train. As it turns out, this wasn’t the whole truth; yes, he was angry and insulted that Potter would choose Weasley and Granger over him. What he didn’t realize for a long time, though, is that under that was hurt. Draco grew up hearing about The Boy Who Lived, and when he finally saw Potter that first time, all he could think was that he hadn’t expected him to be so attractive. Draco had felt small inklings of attraction to other boys before but told himself he was just imagining it; seeing Potter made it real. He wanted to be close to Potter, get to know the boy behind the emerald eyes and messy black hair. Then Potter rejected him. Draco shoved his attraction to Potter into a box and locked it in a proverbial closet inside his head. Fine, he’d thought, if that’s how it’s to be. And thus began their rivalry. As it would turn out, however, some things just can’t stay locked up forever. The door to Draco’s closet began to deteriorate, splintering apart each time he had to watch Potter smile at another, when he playfully bumped his shoulder into Weasley’s as they walked past, ignoring him. Potter wrapping his arm around Granger’s shoulders and pulling her close for a hug, Draco wishing it was him. The box also began to wear; the lock rusted and crumbled, no longer serving its purpose. Draco felt the extent of the damage the first day of sixth year, when the full weight of his feelings toward Potter came crashing down on his shoulders. The box and closet no longer existed and there was nothing to hold back the intensity of five years’ worth of emotion.

Draco’s heart banged out a steady rhythm as he finished removing Potter’s shirt. As he cleaned, he assessed the wound. It was not pretty; though not deep, due to its size, there was a good chance Potter would need a skin graft. When the wound was clean and Draco had cast a spell to kill anything that may have found its way in, he packed the wound in gauze infused with a potion to speed cell growth. Potter was mostly silent and still throughout the process, making one small sound of pain when Draco applied the first layer of gauze. Draco quickly finished and gave Potter a pain potion, using a tissue to dab away a drop that had spilled on his chin. He took a step back, shaking just a bit.

Healer Beadle came into view, “Mr. Malfoy, I see you have him patched up. How will you proceed with Mr. Potter?”

Draco inhaled, willing his hands to stop shaking, “I’m going to admit him and begin the process of getting him a skin graft. His wound is not deep but the width is much too large for a normal healing spell.”

“Good,” Healer Beadle looked toward the doors as the second group of apprentices came onto the ward. She eyed Draco for a moment and said, “I’ll finish Mr. Potter’s admission and get things squared away. Your shift is almost over, why don’t you go home?”

Draco almost told her no, he was fine and didn’t need to leave early. Instead, suddenly feeling like his limbs were made of lead, he nodded and thanked her. He stopped himself from looking at Potter one more time and missed the emerald green eyes trained on him as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Healer Beadle looking like Dr. Erica Hahn from Grey's Anatomy. Only nicer. I have about 4 more chapters drafted but they are in need of serious editing. I'm thinking a weekly update, at least for the next several chapters. I hope you stick around! <3
> 
> Next time: Draco talks to Harry for the first time and tension ensues.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back for chapter 2! My medical nerd side came out to play for a bit in this one, but nothing too technical. I hope you enjoy!

Though Draco had been exhausted when he arrived home that evening, sleep eluded him. His mind was fixated on Potter. It provided him images from that day, but also from years ago, images Draco had thought forgotten. He found himself contemplating the scarring on Potter’s chest. He’d only had one scar when Draco knew him, _the_ scar that he was known for, and _everyone_ knew how he got it. These, though, where could they have come from? And so many? Some crossed over one another, individuals bisecting groups. They must have happened over time, not all at once in some kind of accident. Draco thought of the amount of pain some would have caused Potter and he decided he did not like that line of thinking whatsoever and found himself instead thinking of the chest, the muscle, under those scars. Draco had seen men’s chests before, some carved nearly to perfection. Potter’s was not perfect but it didn’t matter. After years of wondering what Potter would look like with no shirt, it was better than Draco could have imagined. Of course, he _would_ only get to see it because Potter was bleeding out of a large wound and it was Draco’s job to keep him _alive_ which meant he could hardly stop to appreciate it. Draco began to feel too warm under his summer blanket and decided he should avoid thinking about the level of satisfaction he felt about his now-patient’s bare chest. 

The exhaustion must have won out at some point because suddenly Draco’s alarm clock was going off. He hit snooze, which he didn’t do often, but he felt like he needed those extra ten minutes to really prepare himself for another day of training. And seeing Potter. Draco wiggled further down into the blanket, squeezing his eyes shut. Potter would be on the ward for the next several days while the graft was obtained and then monitored for infection. Apprentices worked full forty-hour weeks, just like Healers. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday were eight hours shifts, the group split between morning and evening, with twelve hours on Saturday, and Thursday and Sunday off. This was to optimize their exposure to high admission days for the most experience. Draco was working the morning shift that day. He would do first rounds with Healer Beadle as soon as he arrived, which meant he would see Potter as soon as he arrived. He groaned when his alarm went off a second time. Sighing, he climbed out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. After his shower, Draco dressed in plain black trousers and a black button-down. The combination of his clothes and robe would make him look like a Hufflepuff, but he’d put such trivial things behind him. He was more concerned about the yellow of his robes washing him out when paired with his fair skin and nearly white hair. He refreshed his robe using a steamer and went to the kitchen for breakfast and coffee. 

Draco had rented out a small flat not far from St. Mungo’s when he started training. It was small, one bed, one bath with a living room that transitioned into a kitchen. He had absolutely no desire to stay at any of the Malfoy family properties, not even with his mother. She had sold the Manor, unable to live with the memories that now also lived there. Narcissa was now living in a small but lavish cottage in an area somewhat removed from the wizarding community. At first Draco had encouraged her to try to reintegrate into society as a new woman unconnected to the Dark Lord or the Purebloods. She’d refused enough times that he’d let it drop. Narcissa insisted that she felt fulfilled nurturing her expansive garden and flock of peacocks. The two of them had afternoon tea and dinner every Sunday, which seemed to keep her spirits up. She did travel into town discreetly once a week to see a Mind Healer, which helped Draco feel better about her living alone. He had also seen one for a couple of years to process the things he had seen and done during his time with the Death Eaters and the War. He learned how to cope with the anxiety, paranoia, nightmares, and general feelings of worthlessness. Draco felt better now that he had found a new purpose.

As Draco waited for his coffee to brew in his Muggle coffee pot, he went over to where his owl was sitting on one of his several perches. Draco stroked his back, the owl’s eyes closed in bliss. He loved this owl; he used to think of owls as tools, a way to transport post. Now he knew how loyal and loving they could be when treated the same. The perch stood next to a window that was always open, the wards keeping the heating and cooling in and bugs out. Draco scratched a certain spot on the back of the owl’s neck and he extended his neck forward, chirruping. Draco smiled and walked back to the counter to retrieve his travel mug and fill it to the brim with coffee, sugar, and cream. He sipped as he ate his toast, also made in a Muggle appliance. Draco had found Muggle ingenuity quite impressive; without magic, they had to invent things to make their lives easier. Muggle society was constantly changing, where as their own was stagnant. Muggles were always striving to reach new stages of progress, whereas wizarding folk seemed satisfied where they were. Draco had come to enjoy a number of things about Muggle life, examples being the Crockpot and science fiction novels. His current favorite was _Star Trek: the Next Generation._

Draco put his plate in the sink and gave his owl one more pat, “Be good while I’m gone.”

The owl blinked once, slowly, as if to say _I’m always good._

Draco grabbed his robe and satchel, slipped on his shoes, and entered the floo. He tossed the powder to his feet and said “St. Mungo’s Hospital.”

Draco arrived on the ward exactly five minutes early. Healer Beadle was already there, chatting with one of the nurses. The nurse looked over to him, her mouth curling into a coy smile. Draco inhaled and glanced around, uncomfortable. He was nowhere near as prideful and cocky as he had once been, but he still knew he was attractive. What the nurse did not know was that he maintained his looks in order to gain the attention of other men. Healer Beadle came over, inadvertently blocking him from the nurse’s gaze. 

“I see yesterday’s events didn’t scare you away,” She said with a smile.

Draco smiled back, “It takes more than a little blood to scare me.”

Healer Beadle’s eyes turned thoughtful, “I’m sure,” She blinked, back to business, “I’m glad you’re here early, I wish to discuss something with you.”

A bit of apprehension flared in Draco’s chest, “Yes?”

“You’re reaction to Mr. Potter’s condition did not escape me yesterday, nor did your ability to continue your care despite your feelings. This not only shows your level of professionalism but also your ability to care about a patient,” She paused, “Some Healers believe in professional detachment. They think it makes their treatment methods better because they are focusing on the condition rather than their feelings toward the patient. I disagree. I think as Healers we must be able to have a certain level of feeling for our patients because it motivates us to go one step further with treatments. I was pleased to see this ability in you, and so I am putting you in charge of Mr. Potter’s treatment.”

Draco couldn’t smother the surprise in his expression, his lips parting as his jaw went slack in a most undignified manner. 

Healer Beadle smiled at his reaction, “I will be closely supervising, of course, providing any assistance you may need. I think this will be good for you, Mr. Malfoy. I know that you have had to work much harder than your classmates to get to where you are, and I reward hard work,” She sighed lightly, “I am also aware of the...interest that certain people would take in Mr. Potter’s condition, and I need someone who I know will not treat it as a juicy piece of gossip to thrill their friends.”

Draco nodded. He could think of one person in particular who would do anything to get her hands on this kind of information about Potter. He could see it now, a headline reading _Harry Potter Severely Injured in Accident: Does the Savior’s Life Hang in the Balance?_

The other two apprentices came through the doors and Healer Beadle lowered her voice, “The group will skip Mr. Potter’s room during rounds to minimize the number of people who know of the details of his condition. I trust you remember rounds protocol?”

Draco nodded. 

“Excellent, you will complete his assessment and then join us when finished.” She waited for another confirmation before waving the other apprentices over.

“We will begin with the first rounds of the day,” She told the group and lead them down the hall. 

They moved through the rooms on the left side of the hall as a group, Draco splitting off as everyone else passed the last room, earning confused looks from his classmates. He ignored them and quietly opened the door to Potter’s darkened room. 

He pulled back the curtain hiding Potter from view of the large glass door. Potter shifted and inhaled deeply as the sound woke him. Draco picked up Potter’s chart and waited until he seemed aware. 

“I’m sorry for waking you, I know it’s early. I’m going to turn on the light, cover your eyes.” Draco waited a couple more seconds before flipping the switch. He was met with the sight of Potter blinking sleepily for a moment before he recognized Draco. Draco remained where he was by the wall at the foot of Potter’s bed. 

The shock of seeing Potter nearly unconscious yesterday paled in comparison to the feeling of Potter’s so very green eyes on him, his expression calm. 

“Hello, Malfoy,” Potter said softly, a slight rasp at the end.

Despite his layers of clothing, Draco’s arms broke out in goosebumps. “Potter.” 

Draco was aware he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. Potter reclined in the bed, his black hair sticking straight up in the back where it met the pillow. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, his eyes totally unobstructed as they gazed steadily at Draco. The blood replenishing potion had done its job; Potter’s skin tone was richer than it had been yesterday. Something squirmed in Draco’s stomach when he remembered how warm it had been. Potter had been dressed in the standard light blue hospital pajamas. The fabric of the shirt did nothing to hide the muscles of Potter’s chest and arms. His large hands rested in his lap on top of the blanket.

When Draco looked back to Potter’s face, he was startled to find him appraising Draco in the same manner. Potter’s eyes took in Draco’s face and hair, his new apprentice robes. Their eyes met again and Draco tightened his grip on the chart in his hands. 

“I’m here-” Draco cleared his throat, flushing with embarrassment, “I’m here to do your morning assessment.”

Potter nodded, his face relaxed and open. 

Draco took a step forward, and another, until he was standing at Potter’s side. He willed his hands to not shake as he cast various spells to check Potter’s temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. He frowned at the temperature readout, “You have a fever.”

Potter shook his head, “That’s just my normal temperature,” He looked at Draco, “I guess I just run hot.”

Draco’s heart thudded, “Still, I’m going to get you a fever reducer, just to be sure.” He jotted down the numbers before setting the chart to the side. 

Potter reached for his glasses and gasped sharply. He pulled his arm back, gritting his teeth.

Draco handed him his glasses, “How much pain are you having?”

“A bit,” He said through his teeth.

Draco glanced at the chart, “You’re due for another pain potion.” He pressed a button to notify the nurse’s station. Draco barely contained a groan as the nurse from earlier walked through the door. “Could you get a pain potion for Mr. Potter, please?”

“‘Mr. Potter’, is it?” Potter smirked.

Draco raised his chin a fraction, “We do have a certain level of professionalism to uphold,” he replied primly.

Potter’s smirk widened. 

The nurse returned with the potion, handing it to Draco with another smile. He sighed quietly as she left.

“I guess some things don’t change,” Potter commented as Draco handed him the potion. He tossed it back, returning the empty vial.

Draco felt himself flush again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He turned away to put on gloves. He paused before saying, “I need to look at your wound.”

Potter nodded, sitting up slowly and hitching his shirt up. Draco’s heart pounded as he carefully peeled back the tape securing the outer layer of gauze. He tried to keep his eyes on what he was doing and not allowing them to stray to the scars on Potter’s side. He could feel Potter’s eyes on him as he leaned in and brushed his fingers over the edge of the wound, looking for early signs of infection. Draco heard Potter inhale and go very still. 

Draco pulled his hand away and looked up, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was pressing so hard.”

Potter’s gaze was trained on the blanket, “No, it’s alright, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” He relaxed slightly and raised his eyes to Draco’s again. 

Draco swallowed and replaced the gauze, “I will need to change the dressing when I come back for next rounds.”

Potter’s eyes followed him as he straightened and he nodded. He pulled his shirt back down, skin disappearing from view, and relaxed back against the bed.

Draco tossed his gloves in the bin, “Right. I will order a fever reducer for you-”

Potter smiled, “I told you I don’t have a fever.”

“-and a nurse will be by to give it to you,” Draco finished with a raised eyebrow. Potter relented, that smile still in place.

“Is there anything you need right now?”

Draco watched, confused, as Potter glanced down and smirked to himself, “No, I think I’ll sleep a while longer.”

Draco nodded, still a bit confused, and reached to pull the curtain back into place. As he walked away, he heard Potter say, “It’s good to see you, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled, an odd tightness forming in his chest, “You too, Potter.”

The morning went quickly, and before Draco knew it, it was ten til noon. He began to feel jittery. He had reported Potter’s condition to Healer Beadle after morning rounds, and she said that if there were still no signs of infection when he changed Potter’s dressing that they would move forward with the skin graft. Just as before, Draco stayed with the group during rounds until they passed Potter’s room. The lights were on, so Potter was awake. He opened the door and was startled by the sound of voices, then he remembered morning visitation ended at 12:30. Belatedly, he knocked as he walked in and the voices quieted. Draco rounded the curtain and found Weasley and Granger occupying the chairs by Potter’s bed. They had brought a vase of flowers which sat on the table. There were also a few books, Granger’s doing, no doubt, as well as a smattering of other items. 

Draco smiled tightly, “Weasley, Granger.”

Weasley looked like he had smelled something unpleasant, “Malfoy.”

“Hello, Malfoy. It’s been a long time,” Granger said.

Draco nodded, “That it has. Please excuse the interruption, I’ve come to do Potter’s afternoon assessment.”

“Oh, you’re perfectly fine,” Granger said politely as she gathered her bag, “It’s about time for us to go, anyway.”

She looked at Weasley, who stubbornly remained in his seat.

“Surely it won’t take Malfoy long to do his...assessment. There was one more thing I wanted to talk to Harry about.”

Draco resisted rolling his eyes as he cast the spells for Potter’s vitals, “It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes,” He frowned, “Your fever is back.”

“Never went away,” Potter replied, “I didn’t have one, that’s just my normal temperature.”

“Don’t worry, Malfoy, Harry has always been a human furnace,” Granger piped up.

“Very well,” Draco wrote the numbers in Potter’s chart with a note about the temperature. He took gloves, a bundle of gauze, and tape out of the cupboard, “It’s time for me to change your dressing and take a look at your wound.”

Weasley’s face went a bit pale, “Look at his wound?”

Draco began peeling back the layers of gauze, disposing of them in the biohazard bin, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as Weasley’s face went even paler when he saw the blood stains on the gauze, “Yes, Weasley, Potter’s wound must be checked for infection and to make sure it’s healing properly.”

“You know what, mate, that thing I wanted to talk about can wait until tomorrow,” Weasley’s voice sounded strained as he rose from his seat and patted Potter on the shoulder before speed walking out of the room.

Granger chuckled and shook her head, “Ever the squeamish one,” She stood and placed a light kiss on Potter’s forehead, “Be good, and listen to the Healers, they know what they’re doing,” she looked at Draco with a small smile and followed Weasley into the hall.

Potter shook with a light laugh, then went quiet. Draco removed the last layer of gauze and looked closely. He resisted wincing as he did; it wasn’t close to the worst injury he’d seen, but the fact that it was Potter made his chest squeeze uncomfortably. He could feel Potter’s eyes on him, as tangible as a touch. His cheeks felt warm and he once again ran a gloved finger around the edge of the injury. Potter’s breath hitched and Draco looked up. Potter’s eyes were intense as they met Draco’s. Draco had never been this close to Potter’s face, and he was able to see the ring of gold around his pupils. They dilated as Draco steadily returned Potter’s gaze. 

He took a small breath, “How’s your pain?” He asked quietly.

“It’s alright,” Potter replied just as quietly.

Draco’s face warmed further and he drew away, tearing open packets of gauze.

“There’s no infection,” He gently pressed the first layer of new gauze down and Potter’s hand twisted in the blanket. He wasn’t sure that he believed what Potter’d said about his pain. “However, the surface area of your injury is too large for the skin to heal over on its own, so you will need a skin graft.”

Potter nodded, “The Healer who admitted me last night told me that would need to happen.”

Draco continued to place gauze, “Luckily, about ten years ago, someone figured out how to grow a graft from a sample of the person’s own skin cells, so we won’t have to find a donor.”

“And how does that work?”

“Well,” Draco taped down the outermost sheet of gauze, pressing firmly. He saw Potter swallow out of the corner of his eye. “I will take a small scraping of the skin on your upper arm and take those cells to the lab, where they will be put in a dish with a potion that will cause them to replicate until it is the size we need.”

Draco put his gloves in the biohazard bin and cleaned up the wrappers from the gauze, “A graft of this size may take as long as twenty-four hours to grow.”

Potter looked down at the dressings, “It is big, isn’t it?” His voice was soft.

Draco fiddled with the sleeve of his robe, “What happened?” 

Potter didn’t answer right away and Draco worried that he’d overstepped their tenuous new understanding. 

He shrugged a shoulder, “Just an accident while on a mission.”

Draco nodded and turned away to another cupboard where sharps were kept. He muttered the unlocking spell and tapped the door with his wand. He felt disappointed; he’d hoped for a better explanation. But, he supposed as he picked up a disposable scraping tool and sample dish, this was the first day they had spoken since graduating. He stripped the protective wrap off the tool and said, “Can you roll up your sleeve, please?”

Draco set his jaw and attempted to ignore the rapid pace of his heart and the light sweat on his palms as Potter did as he asked, revealing his well-defined bicep and deltoid. Since when had he developed a thing for muscles? Potter watched as Draco firmly scraped at the skin, the dish catching the cells below. When he figured he had enough, Draco cast a powerful magnifying spell and a number of irregularly shaped, translucent cells appeared in the dish. 

“Whoa,” Potter said, peering into the dish, “That’s my skin?”

“Yes, these are the cells that are being shed as your skin generates new ones.” 

Potter grinned, “Cool.”

Draco screwed the top onto the dish and stuck a label on, scribbling down Potter’s information. He walked over to a small door next to the sink and pulled it open to reveal a chamber no larger than a shoe box. He set the sample inside and closed the door, saying a spell that would send it to the lab.

“I’ve just sent that to the lab and they will get started on your graft. I will book an OR for after morning rounds tomorrow so you can rest before Granger and Weasley arrive.”

Potters brows came together in apprehension, “As in where they do surgery?”

“Don’t worry, the procedure is noninvasive; you won’t even need anesthesia. Healer Beadle will simply lay the graft over the injury and use a simple healing spell to fuse it to the rest of your skin. It should be totally painless.”

Potter’s face relaxed, “Oh, alright, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It won’t be,” Draco reassured him. He paused, then said carefully, “I could prescribe a calming drought for during, if you would like.”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Potter smiled, “Thank you.”

Draco blinked, “You’re welcome.” He stood awkwardly for a few moments, strangely hesitant to leave. Potter watched him with an open expression, his lips still curved in that smile.

Draco took a breath, “Do you need anything before I go?”

“No, thank you.”

“My shift is almost over, so I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good.”

Draco’s chest thumped hard, once. “Have a good night, then.”

As Draco was about to close the door, he could have sworn he heard Potter let out a long, drawn out breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the next chapter includes a non-graphic depiction of a medical procedure. It takes place in an operating room and I know some people can get wigged out by that, so just a heads-up. I will put in a page break for anyone who wants to skip it. <3 
> 
> Next time: Draco has a day off and partakes in some pleasurable activity. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter 3! I hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I writing it. <3

At 7:45 the next morning, Draco accompanied Healer Beadle to the OR to scrub in and prep for Potter’s procedure. A nurse helped him into his cover up while his stomach twisted with nerves. He’d been in an OR before for his classes, but the patient on the table was not his. He was glad Healer Beadle would be taking point this morning. The doors opened and Potter was wheeled in by a nurse from the ward. She parked his wheelchair by the table and helped him lay down, positioning him between foam supports so that his injured side faced up. 

Healer Beadle and Draco walked around so Potter could see them. “Good morning, Mr. Potter, ready to get that wound patched up?”

“I can’t wait,” Potter smiled at her before his eyes slid over to Draco, who was glad his mask covered the majority of his blush. _For Merlin’s sake,_ Draco thought, _stop acting like a first year with a crush._

“Mr. Malfoy, if you’d stay on that side so that you can monitor Mr. Potter?” Healer Beadle asked as she walked back around to the other side of the table. She pulled the bright overhead light into position before saying, “Alright, Mr. Potter, I’m going to begin. Please let Mr. Malfoy know if you need something or you aren’t feeling well.”  
Potter nodded, his gaze softly focused on Draco’s hands, which were clasped in front of him. Draco resisted the urge to fidget. 

The whole thing took no more than fifteen minutes. Draco had a clear view of what Healer Beadle was doing from his spot by Potter. He glanced down at Potter’s face every couple minutes, who either smiled or gave him a thumbs up. 

“Alright, then Mr. Potter, all finished,” Healer Beadle announced as she placed a bandage over the graft to protect it, “How are you doing?” 

“Doing well.”

“Wonderful. We’ll keep you here for another forty-eight hours just to be safe. There shouldn’t be any risk of rejection, but we like to be sure.” 

The nurse who’d brought Potter began removing the foam supports. Without thinking, Draco grasped Potter’s arm, helping him slowly sit up. Potter pushed with his other arm, all the while staring at Draco’s hands on his arm. Draco didn’t let go as Potter stood and then lowered himself into the wheelchair. 

Potter smiled up at him, “Thank you, Apprentice Malfoy.”

Draco looked away shyly and pulled off his mask, “It’s no problem.”

______________________________________________________________________________

By noon rounds, Draco’s embarrassment from earlier had mostly worn off. I was just being helpful, he told himself, I didn’t want him to strain the new graft. Potter’s assessment went as usual: Potter looking at him with a new intensity and focus as Draco tried to ignore his heart thudding in his rib cage and the flush that had taken up permanent residence on his cheeks. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Potter asked as Draco was about to leave.

“No, actually, I have the day off,” That tight feeling was back.

Potter nodded, his expression hard to read for the first time, “Oh, alright. Do you have plans?”

“Sleeping in, definitely. After that I’m not sure,” He shrugged.

Potter hummed.

“I might actually play around with a new potion recipe I saw recently.”

“Really? What kind?” He sounded genuinely interested.

“Well, I suppose in this case ‘potion’ is a loose definition. I found it in a ‘naturopathic remedies' book I found at a Muggle bookshop. None of the ingredients are magical but they seem to achieve the same the same effects, it’s fascinating. There are a number of different recipes I’d like to try, including a salve,” He snapped his mouth shut, realizing he was babbling.

Potter’s expression was amused, “I never thought I’d see the day where Draco Malfoy is ‘fascinated’ with Muggles.” 

Draco’s stomach did an odd flip at Potter’s use of his full name. 

“Yes, well, as it turns out, my family’s opinions on Muggles weren’t very...accurate,” His voice was bitter. He both could and couldn’t believe he’d believed the poison his father spewed. He knew he was young so of course he accepted his parents’ words as truth; it took breaking away from his family and Purebloods in general for him to see their hatred was unfounded and damaging. 

Potter’s face had turned thoughtful, eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Yes, well,” Draco said again, fidgeting under Potter’s gaze, “I will see you first thing Friday morning.”

“Enjoy your day off.”

Draco smiled at his feet and left.

______________________________________________________________________________

Despite Draco’s best efforts to sleep in, his mind had other plans. It insisted on supplying him with no small amount of images of Potter: Potter in various states of undress, Potter pressing him into the wall and kissing him, Potter’s eyes on his as he took Draco into his mouth-

Draco flew upright, gasping so loud he choked. He coughed and smacked a hand down on the bed in frustration. A bead of sweat ran down his shirtless chest and he could feel a tell-tale wetness in his pajama bottoms. He roughly smoothed his hair out of his face and looked at his clock: 5:30. Draco groaned and flung his blanket back; he was so physically uncomfortable from the sweat and other things drying on his skin that he knew wouldn’t get back to sleep until he at least rinsed off. He turned the shower on and stepped under the spray. Draco had just begun to relax into the heat of the water when he realized he was hard. He tried to stay relaxed, hoping his erection would go away on its own. When it didn’t, Draco groped for something, anything, to think about that would extinguish his arousal. To spite him, his mind supplied him with the image of Potter joining him in the shower. Potter’s eyes raked down Draco’s body, stopping when they reached his cock. Draco’s body filled with heat that had nothing to do with the water. His hand trailed down his stomach, stopping just before touching his cock. _This isn’t right. Potter’s my patient, I shouldn’t fantasize about a patient._

Draco fought with himself for a few more seconds, feeling a combination of arousal and frustration pulse through him. 

“Fuck,” He hissed, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._”

Ultimately, his arousal won out and he wrapped his long fingers around his cock. Draco braced himself on the shower wall with his other hand, breathing sharply through his teeth as he started to stroke himself. Once again, when he closed his eyes, Potter was in the shower with him. _He crowded Draco under the spray, running a single finger down the center of Draco’s chest._

Draco moaned; he swore he could feel its path.

_Potter’s hand continued until it reached the blond curls at the base of Draco’s cock. He fixed Draco with a scorching look, then kissed him hard, taking Draco’s cock in his hand at the same time. Potter’s tongue entered his mouth, swirling with Draco’s. He twisted his fingers into Draco’s hair and pulled._

Draco’s gasp dissolved into a groan and his fingers tightened.

_Potter forced Draco’s head back, exposing his throat. He bit down hard and Draco cried out sharply. Potter moved his hand from Draco’s hair to his chest, splaying his fingers and firmly pushing Draco until his back hit the cold shower wall. He did all this while firmly moving his hand up and down Draco’s shaft. Draco tried to put his hand on Potter’s waist, only for it to be pinned to the wall. Potter’s grip was tight, “You don’t get to touch me. I might let you, later, if you’re really good for me.” Potter squeezed his wrist harder and bruised Draco’s lips with his own._

Draco panted as he sped up his movements. He rested his forehead on the arm that was struggling to keep him upright, head spinning. Where had that come from? Did he really want Potter to be rough with him like that, talk to him like that? The pleasure building in his pelvis answered that for him. 

_Draco had started thrusting his hips up to meet Potter’s hand. Potter held his gaze with a stare so intense Draco thought he might crumble beneath it. He didn’t look away from Draco’s face for even a second, completely focused. Draco closed his eyes and dropped his head forward, moans spilling from his mouth. He cried out when Potter’s hand left his cock and forced his head back again. “Look at me.” Potter practically growled, “Look at me while I let you fuck my fist.”_

Merlin, where was all this coming from? Draco’s moans were unrestrained at this point, falling freely from his mouth. He felt the beginnings of his climax in his toes, racing up his legs to settle in his groin. He was breathing so hard he was becoming very lightheaded. He wondered absently if he’d pass out.

_Draco’s movements and cries had become desperate. Potter held him where he was, allowing only his hips to move. “I think it’s about time you came for me, Draco. What do you think, huh? You want to come for me?” Draco nodded jerkily, eyes half lidded. Potter bared his teeth in a wolfish smile, “Ask me nicely.” He moved forward, sliding his leg between Draco’s thighs. “Please, Harry, please please let me come!” Draco begged fervently. Potter bit the skin behind Draco’s ear and said, “Then come.”_

Draco’s body spasmed and he barely contained a scream. His ears rang, and his legs were shaking fiercely. He was coming harder than he had in recent memory. Over Potter. Potter biting him, pulling his hair, dominating him. Draco stroked through the last of his release, sighing heavily. 

Draco rinsed off _again_, and shut off the tap. Drying off, he retrieved a new pair of pajama bottoms. He lay back down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Guilt bled into Draco’s chest. What had he just done? He sees Potter for the first time in four years and he immediately falls headfirst back into this thing he’d had for Potter and thought he’d gotten over. With a shock, he remembered Potter calling him ‘Draco’. He’d longed to hear Potter call him by his name his last two years at Hogwarts. Instead, they had pretty much avoided each other, Potter acknowledging him with a quiet ‘Malfoy’ when they crossed paths. And Draco had called him ‘Harry’. He’d had to actively stop himself from referring to Potter as ‘Harry’ in his mind for fear of it slipping out of his mouth. That would have punched a massive hole right through his contrived hatred. 

Draco laid in the quiet, his eyes still trained on the ceiling. How was he supposed to look Potter in the face tomorrow? He closed his eyes, forcing the thought from his head. Driving himself crazy by overthinking wouldn’t do him any good. He sighed in resignation; he knew there was nothing he could do about his intense attraction to Potter. Potter wouldn’t be on the ward much longer, he was healing very well. He would be discharged and go back to his home, his family, and friends and once again disappear from Draco’s life. Draco’s attraction would fizzle out after some time, like it had before. Or I thought it had, he thought wryly. Draco felt the tug of sleep, and he let it pull him under.

Later that morning, Draco moved about his kitchen gathering the ingredients for the Muggle salve he intended to make. Drawing salve, as the natural remedies book claimed, had been used by Muggles for generations to treat all manner of skin ailments. The ingredients had been rather easy to obtain, easier than some magical ones. As per the instructions, he set water to boil in his cauldron and set a glass bowl over the top to create a double-boiler. He’d read that this was used for ingredients that had the tendency to burn with direct heat. He began the process of melting and mixing together the various oils required by the recipe. Two ingredients, the honey and charcoal, were intriguing to him. Draco was sure that wizarding folk would never consider putting food on their skin as medicine, likewise with the burned remnants of wood. The ingenuity of Muggles continued to surprise him. The process of making the salve was not as particular or rigorous as brewing a potion. There were no set number of times to stir nor any particular way, no worry of ingredients reacting in a volatile manner. It reminded Draco more of cooking than potion brewing. He found that he didn’t mind it. The simplicity of the process, he knew, would be looked down on by the potion makers of the wizarding world. However, things did not need to be complicated in order to be effective.   
While the mixture was still liquid, Draco carefully poured it into the waiting amber glass jars. The only thing left after that was for it to cool and solidify. Clean up was also much simpler than potions; he simply had to empty the cauldron and wash the bowl. He looked up at his Muggle wall clock when he was finished. The whole process had taken him an hour. Draco had allotted much more time than that for his experiment and he found he didn’t know what to do next. He carried the book to the sofa with him and read through it, wondering what he should make next if the salve turned out.   
Draco left his flat a while later and went to a Muggle health shop. He perused the shelves, which were filled with jars of dried herbs, premixed remedies, and a multitude of supplements. He wondered how effective some of them would be against magical conditions. Perhaps if one used immune system supporting herbs, they would be less susceptible to communicable conditions. Draco daydreamed about how he would run such an experiment during his trip home. He spent the remainder of his day getting some much needed rest, determined to keep his thoughts away from Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Draco and Harry's new relationship continues to develop, the tension builds, and Draco is a sweet oblivious boy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a little off my weekend trend for updating. I've been sick so I've been doing nothing but working and sleeping. That retail life, amiright? Thank you for waiting! <3 Without further ado!

Draco entered Potter’s room for rounds. He drew back the curtain, expecting Potter to rouse the way he normally did. Except there was no intake of breath, no shifting of sheets to indicate Potter was awake. Draco walked to Potter’s bedside and cast a soft _lumos_. Potter’s face was completely relaxed in sleep. He looked serene, gorgeous. Draco closed his eyes in frustration at that last thought, then quickly opened them as images from his highly inappropriate wank played across his mind’s eye. He allowed himself one last moment to watch Potter as he slept before pressing a hand to Potter’s arm and shaking gently.

“Potter. Potter wake up, it-it’s Draco,” He stumbled over his given name, “I’m here for rounds.”

Potter inhaled deeply, “Draco?” he muttered sleepily, eyes still closed.

Draco snatched his hand away. He knew that Potter had only said his name because he’d heard Draco say it while he was still sleeping, but a flash of heat still went through him. 

Potter’s eyes blinked the rest of the way open. He smiled drowsily and rubbed at one eye with the palm of his hand. “G’morning.”

Draco’s hands tingled at the casual greeting, “Good morning,” he returned, going to the light switch, “Lights on.”

He flipped the switch and began going through the motions. Potter leaned his head back, closing his eyes again, completely comfortable in Draco’s presence. 

Draco’s lips twitched up, “You’re really tired today,” he commented, “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling pretty good. Healers said I can go home today.”

Draco’s hands stilled for only a second, “Really? That’s wonderful. I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here.”

Potter hummed, “Hasn’t been so bad.”

Draco tried not to think about what those words meant as he tapped Potter’s side. Potter lifted his shirt and Draco inspected the graft. 

He smiled up at Potter, “Nearly seamless. And your vitals are stable, so I’ll put in the order for your discharge.” 

He returned the smile, “Could someone owl Hermione or Ron to let them know?”

“I’ll arrange for that, yes. I also want you to come back in five days for a check in.” 

“Who will I see for that?”

“Either myself or Healer Beadle. She wanted to limit the number of people who knew any details of your condition.”

Potter hummed, “I appreciate that. Skeeter would have a field day. You know, I used to think a time would come when she’d figure out that I’m actually a very boring person and leave me the hell alone,” He said wryly, expression exasperated. He rolled his eyes.

A laugh burst out of Draco. Potter’s eyebrows shot up and he grinned, joining in with his own chuckle. 

“Sorry,” Draco said, still giggling a bit, “I know we don’t really know each other anymore, but I’d wager you’re anything but boring.” 

Potter glanced down, opening his mouth to speak. He pursed his lips, then said tentatively, “That doesn’t have to be the case.”

Draco’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. “What doesn’t have to be the case?” he asked slowly, certain he was misconstruing Potter’s meaning.

Potter picked at one of his cuticles, “Not knowing each other anymore. We’ve both grown up and you seem like you’re a genuinely kind person now,” He swallowed and his eyes flicked up nervously. 

Draco’s brain was still short circuiting, “So…” He trailed off.

“So, I’d like to go out with you sometime, if that’s alright?” Potter said quickly. 

Draco’s brain unfroze, “That’s more than alright, actually.”

Potter looked relieved as he grinned, “Brilliant.” 

When 10:00 am rolled around, Healer Beadle and Draco went to Potter’s room to see him off. Weasley and Granger were there, of course. Potter, and Granger, naturally, listened carefully as Draco told Potter how to care for his graft and when his appointment was scheduled for. Weasley ignored him, shifting from foot to foot, eyes roaming the room. Draco got Potter settled into a wheelchair and the four of them exited the ward, headed toward the floo. Granger and Weasley had walked ahead somewhat, and Potter looked up at Draco as he pushed the chair.

“I’ll owl you as soon as Hermione decides I’m well enough to be by myself.” He offered Draco a crooked smile.

Draco glanced down, keeping half an eye on the people they passed. He returned the smile, “I’ll be waiting,” he said, his eyes widening after a beat. Why had he said that? It was the truth, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

However, it seemed to please Potter and his smile widened. 

They reached the floo. Granger decided she should do first to make sure Potter made it alright, and then Weasley would follow.

Granger held out her hand, “Thank you for taking such good care of Harry, Malfoy.”

Draco grasped her hand, surprised, “You’re welcome. He wasn’t a difficult patient.” His mouth quirked.

She smirked and looked at Potter teasingly, “Now, why do I find that surprising?” 

Potter pulled a face at her as she entered the floo. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.” She vanished in a flash of green flame and Draco moved to help Potter out of his seat.

He was intercepted by Weasley.

“I think we’ve got it from here, Malfoy.” He said brusquely.

Potter shot him a look and Weasley returned a confused _What?_

When he was standing, Potter extended his hand as Granger had. “Thanks again, Malfoy.” He smiled openly, causing more confusion for Weasley. Draco fought the urge to smirk.

Draco shook Potter’s hand, and it was warm in his own cool one. “You’re welcome, Potter.”

Potter briefly squeezed just a bit tighter before letting go. Draco begged his face not to flush in front of Weasley. 

Potter vanished from the floo and Weasley followed, shooting Draco one last look.

Draco rubbed his hands on his robes and took a deep breath. He walked back to the ward, still having another five hours before he could go home, a hollow feeling in the middle of his chest.

___________________________________________________________________________

Three days later, Draco arrived home via his floo to a knocking sound. He listened: no, definitely more of a tapping sound, and it was quite insistent. He set down his satchel and robe and went to the front window. A dark brown owl sat on the sill, tapping its beak against the glass. Draco opened the window wide and the owl flew in, making itself at home on one of Draco’s own owl’s perches. It extended a leg and Draco untied the roll of parchment. He handed the owl a treat, and it hooted happily. It preened as Draco unrolled the note.

Dinner Wednesday? -H.J.P.

Draco’s face split into a grin and he scrambled for a quill. 

Absolutely. Time and place? -D.L.M

Draco retied the note to the owl’s leg and it shook out its feathers before sailing through the still open window. He went about his usual post-work ritual of changing into a soft, cotton t-shirt and loose fitting pants and checking on the plants that crowded the window sills and a couple side tables. Each was either medicinal or used in potions. Draco didn’t have to grow his own, but he felt a sense of achievement when a plant he’d grown worked in a potion.

The tapping began at the front window again about twenty minutes later. The owl took up position on the perch as before. Draco eyed the owl, then gave it another treat.

“Don’t tell Potter I’m giving you all these treats. He’ll blame me if you start to put on weight.”

Potter’s reply read:

6:00 pm? And I know a small Muggle-owned place. I’ll pick you up? -H

Draco responded:

Yes and yes. -D

Draco’s heart thumped in his chest as it was wont to do recently. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Draco didn’t have to wait until Wednesday to see Potter. He’d scheduled Potter’s check up for Tuesday at 10:00am. Draco made his way to the outpatient wing on the first floor, carrying Potter’s chart in his satchel. It was 9:55 when Draco stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk and showed her his Apprentice ID.

“Has, um, H. Potter checked in yet?” Draco kept his voice low.

The receptionist nodded, “Just before you, Apprentice Malfoy. He’s in room two.”

“Thank you.”

Draco knocked on the door to room two and stepped inside. Potter was sitting up on the examination table. Draco was pretty sure Potter was wearing the pants he’d had on when he first came in, though they’d been washed. He also had on a forest green shirt and black work boots. For being a Gryffindor, Draco had to admit that Potter looked great in green. The cool color brought out the contrasting warmth in his skin. He had chosen not to shave the stubble that had grown while he’d been in the hospital, which defined his jaw further. 

Potter smiled at him as he closed the door, “G’morning.”

“Good morning, Potter.”

Draco’s gaze lingered on Potter a moment longer. “Let’s check your graft. I think you know the drill.”

Draco set his satchel in the nearby chair and reached in to retrieve Potter’s chart but stopped cold when Potter pulled his shirt over his head and completely off. He placed his shirt next to him on the table and looked unwaveringly at Draco. He leaned forward, bracing his palms on the edge of the table. The muscles of his broad shoulders flexed and Draco's throat went dry. His eyes bored into Draco’s. Draco blinked quickly, then looked away, clearing his throat.

“Could have waited until after dinner,” He muttered as he successfully got the chart and moved to stand next to Potter.

"You'd have wanted me to lose the shirt after dinner, then?" Potter was clearly teasing him.

Draco stared back, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, "I would have waited to see where the evening took us."

"So, yes?" Potter smirked wickedly.

Draco noncommittally shrugged his shoulder with a look of contrived indifference, "Awful presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Potter chuckled and Draco's chest grew warm. He had next to no experience flirting but Potter didn't seem to mind. He smiled to himself. 

Something out of the corner of his eye caught Draco's attention as he was about to examine Potter's graft. When he looked, he barely contained a gasp. 

Potter had a large crescent shaped scar on his shoulder. There were two jagged rows of indentations, one on the front side and one on the back, as though something had pierced the skin and pulled. It was by far the worst scar Potter had.

Draco's professionalism went out the window as he breathed, "Is that a bite?"

Potter knew exactly what he was talking about, nodding without looking.

"What happened?" Draco was horrified. He noticed Potter chewing his bottom lip.

"I had a run in with a creature while my team and I were up in the mountains. Never did find out what it was, hurt like hell," Potter saw Draco's pained expression, "it happened years ago, during training. It doesn't bother me anymore."

Draco wondered how he missed a mark that size during all their interactions. He remembered that he'd only seen Potter without a shirt once, and Draco had been focused on keeping him from bleeding out. The rest of the time Potter had kept it covered.

Draco's hand twitched and he reached for Potter's shoulder. He closed his hand into a fist just before making contact.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," he apologized. 

Potter shrugged, "It wasn't, it didn't bother me." 

Draco took a deep breath, "Right, okay." 

Potter smiled crookedly, "So, how am I healing, Apprentice Malfoy?"

Draco looked at the graft: it looked good, still a bit pink around the edge but otherwise fused.

"It's essentially healed. I am seeing some scarring forming though…" Draco drew the pads of his fingers across the slightly raised border.

Potter's skin jumped under Draco's fingertips and he heard Potter take a sharp breath, his grip on the table tightening.

"It doesn't still hurt that much, does it?" Draco was concerned.

"No, it barely hurts at all," he paused, swallowing, "actually, it feels...nice." 

"Nice?" Draco was confused. How could a new skin graft feel nice?

Potter looked pointedly at Draco's hand where it still touched him.

Draco's brain clicked, "_OH_, oh," he said lamely. 

Potter smiled down at his jeans.

Draco's face went hot with embarrassment. Was he dense? 

Draco cleared his throat again. He cast the spells for vitals and saw Potter's pulse and blood pressure were elevated. He bit his lip and wrote it down. 

After making a note about the graft, Draco closed the chart, “That’s really all I needed you for today.”

“Really? That was quick.”

Draco hummed, “I just wanted to make sure it took properly. You won’t need to come back unless something changes.” 

He placed the chart back in his satchel, slug it over his shoulder, and turned-

To find a still-shirtless Potter standing less than a foot from him.

Draco stopped short, breath frozen in his chest. Though Draco had always been tall and willowy, he found himself looking up to meet Potter’s eyes. His limbs tingled and he remembered how he’d pictured Potter in his space like this. Draco shuffled back reflexively, his legs hitting the edge of the chair. He let out a small gasp and his heart sped.  
Potter closed the minuscule amount of space Draco had put between them. He breathed in and his eyes slid closed. When they opened, Draco could swear he saw more gold in them. They focused on Draco’s lips, parted in surprise. This close, he could feel the heat coming off Potter’s body. A small ember burned between his lungs. Potter’s eyes flicked back to his. Out of his periphery, Draco saw Potter raise his hand. It stilled just before making contact with Draco’s flushed cheek.

“May I?” He whispered huskily.

Draco nodded his head, his skin tingling in anticipation. Potter ever so slowly stroked a single finger from Draco’s cheekbone to his jaw. The finger didn’t pause as it passed his jaw and trailed down the side of his neck. Draco could hear his own shallow breaths as Potter reached the collar of his button-down, continuing along it to the dip between his clavicles. Green eyes never once left his and Draco closed his eyes, finding it difficult to match Potter’s intensity. Potter stopped above the knot in Draco’s tie, hooked the tip under, and gave it a small tug.

Draco’s breath hissed through his teeth and he blushed deeply. He forced his heavy lids open, his gaze level with Potters lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” The low tone of Potter’s voice sent a chill down Draco’s spine.

Draco nodded minutely, still looking at Potter’s lips. The tip of his tongue darted out and Draco’s body pulsed. He mirrored the action and Potter’s next breath shook slightly.  
The tension was becoming too much for Draco. He picked at the strap of his satchel, desperately resisting the urge to drag his own fingers down Potter’s tight stomach. His resolve failed a few seconds later. Potter’s lips broke open with a gasp, his pupils dilating. Draco felt the ridges of Potter’s scars pass under his fingertips. He stopped when they brushed Potter’s waistband, not having the nerve to hook his fingers in like Potter had his tie. 

The muscles of Potter’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. “If I don’t leave now I’m going to do something that is inappropriate for a patient to do to their Healer.” His voice was strained. 

Draco didn’t say anything - he didn’t think he _could_ say anything. 

Potter stepped back and Draco’s lungs expanded with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Potter pulled his shirt back on and the wicked smirk returned. Draco stood frozen as Potter walked out the door, then dropped into the chair when it closed. His heart was beating so fast it was almost painful, and his hands shook where they held onto the armrests. 

_Merlin and Circe_ \- if being close to Potter like that affected him this much, how would he hold himself together if Potter were to kiss him? It’d been clear he’d wanted to. _You wouldn’t,_ his mind told him, _you’d dissolve into an amorphous blob and be forced to live out the rest of your life in a bucket._

He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope their flirting came across smoothly. I am a pretty direct person and thus do not flirt well. I am also anxious, so I tend to make jokes so that I have an excuse to nervous-laugh. *peace sign*
> 
> Is the tension getting to you yet? >:)
> 
> Next Time: The dinner, more flirting, sass, and some long awaited action.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, we go, chapter 5! Enjoy!

Draco’s nerves ratched higher with every passing hour the next day. He kept losing his train of thought, unable to focus. He worried Healer Beadle would notice, but if she did, she didn’t comment. He hadn’t been this nervous since his apprenticeship admission exams.

At 5:52pm, Draco began to pace in his living room. He checked his Muggle watch repeatedly, trying to keep himself from running his hands through his hair; he’d already taken far longer than he’d like to admit fussing with it. He’d decided exactly what he would wear that morning before work, and then completely changed his mind as he was getting dressed. He’d finally settled with a dark teal button-down and black fitted trousers. He’d left off the tie and unhooked the top button in an attempt to be more casual. It was still summer so he’d forgone a jacket; he was already sweating anyway. He unfastened his sleeves and roughly folded them back.

At 5:56, a knock came from the door. Draco jumped and quickly went to open it. He was greeted by the sight of Potter standing on his front stoop, dressed in a black V-neck and jacket with a pair of dark wash jeans. A small silver pendant strung on a black cord hung from his neck and a braided leather bracelet circled his right wrist. His hands rested casually in his pockets. 

“Hey,” Potter smiled.

How in Merlin’s name was Draco going to survive this? “Hello.”

Potter stepped forward and took Draco’s hand, dropping a soft kiss onto his knuckles. “Shall we?”

Draco nodded and fumbled for his wallet and keys which sat on the nearby table. Potter offered his arm, and, once Draco had accepted, they walked out of the apartment building and down the street to the apparition point. Draco held on tight as Potter side-alonged them into a narrow alley. 

“The restaurant is just a block this way,” Potter lead Draco out of the alley and turned right. 

It was a small place; it looked like it could hold no more than twelve tables. The outside was red brick, with several large windows allowing passersby to see inside. Awnings hung above the windows and door: a bright, cheerful red with white piping along the scalloped edges. The window planters housed multicolored flowers in addition to vines that stretched toward the ground. There were several more wrought iron tables and chairs under the awnings out front. Potter held the door for him and a small bell chimed, announcing their arrival. The inside was styled in earth tones: deep red booths and burnt orange chairs paired pleasingly with polished, dark-wood tables. The walls were painted cream and there were framed pieces of art above each booth. The overall combination was cozy and soothing.

They were greeted by the host, a slight young man with honey skin and chocolate brown hair with eyes to match. He grinned as he approached. “Hey, Harry, it’s been a bit!” 

“It has, how’ve you been?” Potter’s face lit up.

“Not to bad, yourself?”

“Pretty good.”

The man turned to Draco, “Hi, I’m Christian,” He held out his hand, which Draco accepted.

“Draco, it’s good to meet you.”

“Is it just the two of you?” Christian asked, grabbing some menus.

“Yep, just us,” Potter looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye.

“You want your usual spot?”

“That’d be great.”

Christian led them to a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Draco slid into the seat, Potter across from him. Christian set their menus in front of them and asked for their drink orders.

“Could I have a cherry Coke, please?” Potter said and looked at Draco.

Draco flipped over his menu, “A strawberry lemonade, please.”

“Sure thing.”

“I take it you come here often?” Draco asked when Christian left.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite place. I usually come in about once a week, but obviously wasn’t able to last week. I’ve gotten to know the staff a bit. Christian regularly works doubles to save up for university in the fall, and the owner’s daughter is responsible for the art,” he gestured to the painting above their booth. It was an abstract piece that combined a rainbow of colors in irregular, geometric patterns. “I don’t really bring anyone with me, Hermione and Ron have been a few times. I usually just chat with people or read.”

“Christian really seems to like you.”

Potter chuckled, “Yeah. He hit on me once or twice when I first started coming here but I gently shut him down. Told him he was a bit too young.” 

Draco smirked, “I see why he did.”

Potter tilted his head to the side, “Oh, you do?”

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes, “Oh, come on, Potter, have you seen yourself? You’re every bottom’s wet dream come true.” He waved his hand in Potter’s general direction.

Potter leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His eyes drilled into Draco’s.

“So, I’m also yours?”

Draco blushed so hard he feared he may spontaneously combust. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone being as forward as Potter was. Pureblood society required more tactful language, roundabout ways of saying what one really meant. He fidgeted in his seat and opened his menu, definitely not so he could hide behind it.

“So, what would you recommend?” He asked, epically changing the subject. 

Potter’s laugh rumbled low in his chest. “I usually get the same thing when I come here. Yes, I’m one of those.” He said in response to Draco’s amused expression, one eyebrow raised. 

“Which is…?”

“The reuben and chips. They make everything in house, and it’s the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

Draco scanned the menu until he found it, “I don’t think I’ve heard of that before.”

“I’m not surprised. I seriously doubt something as plebeian as a sandwich would be served at a Pureblood residence.” Potter’s voice and expression were teasing.

Draco sniffed and raised his chin in a perfect imitation of his younger self, “Yes, well, we must distinguish ourselves from the rabble.” He fought to stop the smile attempting to break across his face. 

Christian returned with their drinks. Draco’s lemonade had muddled strawberries floating throughout. He took a sip: amazing.

“What would you two like to eat?” 

“Do you really need to ask?” Potter teased.

“Not for you, I don’t, but you have company,” He grinned at Draco, then leaned toward Potter, “About time,” he said in a stage whisper.

Potter glared at him without heat.

“I think I’ll have what P-Harry is having.”

Potter had fixed Draco with that intense stare of his.

Draco squinted at him, leaning in slightly and holding his gaze stubbornly, “What?” 

Potter’s lips quirked.

Draco noticed Christian still standing there, looking between him and Potter. He whistled low and bumped his fist on Potters arm, “Good luck, mate.”

Draco watched him go, heat once again creeping up his neck. 

Potter was still looking at him with a half smirk, tapping his index finger on the table. He reached for his drink and began to stir it with the long-handled spoon sticking out of it.  
Draco watched quizzically. “What are you doing?”

“They put cherry syrup in it and it all settles to the bottom. If you don’t stir it up you’ll end up with a mouthful of only syrup.” 

“Huh.”

They chatted while they waited for their food. Draco asked about other Muggle places Potter frequented. According to him, there was a cafe a few blocks down that had the most amazing butter pecan ice cream; the coffee was very good too. Draco told him about the bookstore he’d grown fond of. He divulged his current obsession with science fiction.

“You read science fiction?” Potter said, both amused and incredulous. 

“It’s so interesting!” Draco said animatedly, “The way the authors can create an entirely new world and fill it with people who have their own social structure and way of life is amazing. The space ships are particularly interesting because I can’t figure out how something like that would run. They’re massive and,” he lowered his voice, “Muggles obviously can’t use magic to make them fly so how would they even get off the ground, let alone into space?”

Potter listened attentively as he continued on about other books he’d read. Draco had just begun to dip his toes into the supernatural genre. 

“They write about all these magical creatures. The lack of accurate knowledge frustrates me, but the story draws me in anyway. I mean, I’ve read ones where the author thinks that werewolves would attack their own family during the change, it’s horrific. We know that, in reality, werewolves are incredibly loyal to their pack and would never harm any of its members.”

Potter was quiet, and Draco wondered what he was thinking.

“Yes,” he said, “that is very true. It’s nearly impossible for a pack member to harm another. The bite binds the wolf to whoever they’ve bitten for life. The person who’s bitten won’t always become a werewolf; they do take human mates and mark them with a bite. Anyone who is bound to a member of a pack in any way is accepted by the others by default. The bonds within the pack prevent violence.”

Draco’s gaze flicked down to Potter’s hand where he had started picking at his cuticles. 

“It seems like you know quite a bit about them.”

“Well, Remus has been like a father to me since…” he swallowed, “since Sirius passed. I’ve learned a lot from him.”

Draco reached across the table and laid his hand on Potter’s arm. He knew the pain of losing a father; Lucious wasn’t a particularly kind or even loving father, but he was the only one Draco had. When he was sentenced to life in Azkaban, it felt like a part of Draco’s life had been ripped out, even if he’d been better for it. Without his father’s influence, he was able to look at the world in a completely new way, without the prejudice, hatred, and rigidity of Pureblood culture. 

Potter was still, and just as Draco was about to take back his hand, Potter ran a finger across the back, tracing the blue veins under his porcelain skin. Draco cursed his hand for trembling as Potter took it in his own and drew small circles with his thumb. He turned it over and lightly traced the lines in Draco’s palm. 

“The pendant I’m wearing was actually a gift from Remus. It was his way of officially bringing me into his pack.”

It was a shield broken into four quadrants - clockwise, each held the image of a rat, a stag, a dog, and a wolf. An ‘L’ occupied the center where the quadrants intersected.  
“It’s beautiful,” Draco said softly.

“He modeled it after the Marauder's crest, his original pack; my father, Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew were his best friends at Hogwarts. He changed the ‘M’ to an ‘L’ when he made it the official crest of the Lupin family.”

“I’m glad you have him. I’m glad you have all of them, really.”

“The Weasleys adopted me into their clan the moment they met me. They saw a boy with no family to speak of and immediately remedied that.”

Draco’s chest tightened uncomfortably. He had to admit, he was jealous of Potter. While he had chosen to cut ties with the other Pureblood families, it still hurt that his mother was all he had now. 

“You know,” Potter said when he saw Draco’s saddened expression, “from what we know about how packs work, you could, someday, if you wanted, be a member. We obviously aren’t bound in any way, but I do care about you. I know Remus would welcome you, not just because you mean something to me, you’re also his extended family. The Weasleys, however, would admittedly be more difficult to win over.” He smiled wryly. 

Draco averted his gaze, overcome. His heart felt as though it had swelled to twice its size. 

“Only if you wanted to, obviously,” Potter said quickly, misreading Draco’s reaction.

“I would like that very much,” Draco whispered, eyes a bit watery.

He sniffed lightly and sat up straighter as Christian approached with their food. Potter shifted his hold on Draco’s hand so their fingers were intertwined and gave Draco some slack to make him more comfortable. He didn’t let go as Christian set their meal in front of them with a flourish. Their sandwiches were cradled in oblong baskets lined with paper; it all smelled wonderful.

“Two reubens and chips, hold the sauerkraut.”

“Thanks, Christian.” 

“I’ll be around, just yell if you need anything.”

“What in the world is sauerkraut?” Draco asked. 

They climbed the front steps to Draco’s apartment building and walked a short way down the hall to Draco’s front door. Draco unlocked it with a spell and turned to Potter. 

“Thank you for dinner, I really enjoyed myself.”

“Thank you for going with me. I enjoyed spending time with you.”

Draco grinned at that and Potter returned it. Potter’s eyes dropped to Draco’s lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly. 

“Yes.”

Potter took a step forward and Draco didn’t move back this time, staying perfectly still as Potter softly kissed him. Draco pressed firmly into him and Potter responded by angling his head and moving his lips against Draco’s. Potter brought his hands up to cup Draco’s neck, thumbs grazing over his cheeks. Draco’s hands shook and he grasped the front of Potter’s jacket. His heart crashed in his ribcage when Potter ran his tongue over his bottom lip. His lips parted and Potter’s tongue slipped between them. He gripped Potter’s jacket with white knuckles as Potter slowly moved his tongue against Draco’s, taking his time mapping out Draco’s mouth. Draco made a small sound and felt Potter’s hold on his neck grow firmer. Draco could tell Potter was holding back by his carefully controlled, though shaky, breathing and how his hands never moved from his neck. 

Draco didn’t want that; he’d waited years for this. 

He boldly slid his hands inside Potter’s jacket and under the back of his shirt. He pressed his fingers into the muscle there, fingernails digging in slightly.

A groan rumbled low in Potter’s chest and he pressed Draco back until he was trapped between Potter’s body and the door. Draco briefly broke the kiss with a gasp and Potter caught his bottom lip with his teeth. Potter’s tongue entered his mouth again, all his patience from before gone. His left hand moved to Draco’s nape while his right stroked down Draco’s chest and stomach to the small of his back. Draco let Potter pull him closer until the front of their bodies pressed together. He slid his hands further up Potter’s back, making him groan again. 

After several minutes spent snogging in the hallway, Draco broke away. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

Potter panted against his mouth, “Yes.” 

Draco blindly searched for the knob and let them in. They fell onto the couch, Draco ending up in Potter’s lap. 

He shoved Potter’s jacket off his shoulders and Potter sat forward to remove it, tossing it to the floor somewhere behind Draco. He smoothed his hands up Draco’s chest, stopping at Draco’s top button. 

He hesitantly popped it open, “Is this okay?” He whispered.

“_Yes_,” Draco breathed.

Potter planted an open-mouthed kiss on Draco’s neck and continued with the rest of the buttons, lips following his progress down Draco’s chest. Their decent stopped abruptly as Potter stilled. Draco opened his eyes to see Potter staring at his chest with a pained expression. Draco knew he was looking at the scar left by _Sectumsempra_. 

Potter’s hands left his chest to rest on his waist. “I’ve always regretted casting that spell,” he looked away, ashamed, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Draco gently took hold of Potter’s chin and turned his head, “I don’t blame you for using it. I was going to _Crucio_ you. I realized a long time ago that you didn’t know what it did.”

“I still shouldn’t have used it.”

“Do you really want to have this conversation right now? Because I don’t. I’d rather go back to having your hands and mouth on me.”

Potter’s eyes darkened at those words, but he still looked like he wanted to say something. Draco leaned in and brushed his lips across Potter’s jaw and up to his ear. He took Potter’s earlobe between his teeth before whispering, “Alright?”

Potter made a sound deep in his chest before he brought his hands back to Draco’s buttons. He finished them off, though he avoided the scar with his fingertips and lips.  
Draco gasped, forcing up Potter’s shirt to splay his hands over his hot skin. Potter groaned and took his hands off Draco just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. 

“Told you you’d want me to lose the shirt,” he rumbled. 

Draco huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. He was glad that Potter was back to teasing.

Divesting Draco of his shirt, Potter asked, “Can I touch your ass?”

“Are you going to ask every time you want to do something?” Draco replied, guiding Potters large, calloused hands.

“Consent is important.”

“I’ve wanted you for years, just do what you want.”

Potter squeezed Draco’s ass and grazed his teeth over his nipple. 

“Merlin, fuck,” Draco gasped, his back arching to give Potter better access to his alabaster chest and ass simultaneously. 

Potter pulled back with a quizzical look, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

“I was raised not to curse in public,” Draco panted, “Pureblood etiquette and all that.”

“You should more often, it’s hot as hell,” Potter massaged Draco’s ass and pressed a scorching kiss to Draco’s sternum. 

“I’ve wanted to get my hands on your ass since fifth year,” Potter said into Draco’s skin.

“Really?” Draco managed. He yelped as Potter sat back, and suddenly he was looking down into Potter’s face. The gold in his eyes stood out even more than it had the day before. 

“It may have been fourth year,” Potter groaned as Draco tightly wound his fingers into his inky hair, “Either way, you feel better than I could have imagined,” He grasped the back of Draco’s neck and roughly pulled him down to say in his ear, “And I imagined it frequently.” 

Draco’s breath left him as he pictured Potter in the showers or in his bed in the Gryffindor dorms getting himself off on thinking about him. His hips came forward, which succeeded in the bulge in his trousers rubbing against Potter’s. Potter’s nails dug into the skin of Draco’s waist. Draco looked down; Potter’s mouth was open, breathing heavily, eyes closed. His black lashes fluttered against his cheeks. Draco was transfixed; he couldn’t believe he was affecting Potter this way. In all his time obsessing over Potter, he’d never thought Potter might feel the same. Draco sensed Potter’s control from earlier returning, and he hesitantly repeated the motion. Potter jerked, his back arching slightly, and pulled in a sharp breath. His nails dug further into Draco’s skin, the mild pain sending a wave of pleasure through him. Draco responded by rolling his hips forward as he pulled on Potter’s hair. Potter’s eyes snapped open and flipped Draco onto his back on the couch with what sounded very much like a growl. The speed with which Potter moved took Draco’s breath. 

Potter firmly pressed his hips down on Draco’s, who threw his head back with a loud moan, his neck arching. Potter’s teeth were immediately on his neck, dragging down until they sank into the skin where his neck met his shoulder. Draco cried out and his hips bucked. He accidentally pulled Potter’s hair again, which was met with another growl. Potter grabbed his wrists and slammed them onto the cushion above Draco’s head. His breath hissed in and out through his gritted teeth. His hold on Draco’s wrists was bruising and his arms shook. Draco’s lungs heaved, trying to get enough oxygen to his brain. Potter’s eyes bored into his, pupils blown wide.

“I want to fuck you so badly, Draco,” He hissed with barely contained desire, “but I’d intended to wait until after the first date.”

Draco burned when Potter said his name. “I want to to fuck me,” He whispered. He could swear he saw Potter’s eyes flash completely gold before he dropped his forehead to Draco’s shoulder. _I definitely imagined it, it’s the oxygen deprivation._ Really, how could Potter’s emerald eyes have completely changed color?

“I can’t,” he whispered back, “We’ve waited this long, a little longer won’t kill us.”

Well, Draco didn’t know about that.

Potter shifted off of Draco and pulled him upright. He wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him close. Draco leaned into Potter’s side and rested his hand on his thigh. Potter covered Draco’s hand with his own and squeezed. As his heart rate came down and his breathing went back to normal, Draco supposed Potter was right. He still wanted Potter to fuck him, to be sure, but Draco normally preferred to know the person he was having sex with better than he currently did Potter. He’d been with only one other person in that respect, and he’d been housemates with him for two years before even considering it. Draco didn’t become attracted to people easily; he had to form a connection with someone before even seeing them in that light. He’d never really understood how Pansy could jump from crush to crush, partner to partner. At first, she’d teased him for being picky and having high standards. She stopped eventually when she accepted that that was just the way he was wired. Potter was a bit of an anomaly. They hadn’t _known_ each other growing up. They had a strong connection, even if it was a negative one. Draco didn’t question it too much, though; his feelings about Potter weren’t going to go away, so what was the point? He did want to get to know Potter a bit more as an adult before going that far. Draco himself had gone through significant changes as a person, no doubt Potter had also changed. He was certainly more confident. 

Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He heard and felt Potter take in a large breath and he cracked an eye. Potter was looking at his scar again with that same pained expression.

“Stop it,” Draco said lightly.  
“I really am sorry,” he murmured. 

Draco grabbed Potter’s hand and pressed it flat over the scar. Potter hissed slightly.

“I want you to stop apologizing. It healed and I’m in one piece. I forgave you for it a long time ago.”

“You should hate me for it.”

“I did for a while. As I became more mature, though, I realized there really wasn’t any reason for me to hate you at all,” He smiled somewhat sadly, “especially after what you did for me and my mother.”

“It was the right thing to do. You were under immense pressure from your father and you had Voldemort living in your home. What else could you have done? Granted, you were a fucking twat in school, but there were some things that suggested maybe you were changing.”

Draco grinned, “I was a fucking twat,” he furrowed his brow, “I didn’t like acting like that. Shoving people around, using slurs. I knew it wasn’t right. When I was growing up, my father saw my sensitive nature and decided that the Malfoy heir shouldn’t be kind. His heir needed to be ruthless, callus, unmoving, like him. So anytime I showed any ‘weakness’, as he called it, I was berated, demeaned, sometimes slapped. I learned that to survive I had to be what my father wanted me to be,” his voice turned bitter, “and I was good at it.”

“That must have been awful, being punished for who you are.”

“I think you understand that more than anybody,” Draco murmured. Potter had been overrun by the press after the War. In one interview, he described his childhood: how he was nothing more than a servant, that he slept in a cupboard, locked in, no less. Turned out he and Potter had more in common that Draco had thought. He let Potter’s hand fall from his chest in favor of holding it in both of his own.

“Of course not. I haven’t spoken to them in years. It’s funny how much better my life became when they were out of it.” 

Draco nodded, “I love my father, but when he went to Azkaban I finally felt free,” he glanced away, slightly embarrassed, “I, um, I saw a Mind Healer for a couple of years, to, you know, learn how to cope with the memories I had from the War. My Healer helped me see how detrimental my upbringing was, and how to forgive myself for the things I’d done. I did what I needed to in order to survive being my father’s son as well as being trapped with the Death Eaters. That doesn’t make them right; I know now that I wouldn’t have made those choices if I hadn’t been in those situations.”

Potter squeezed Draco’s smaller hands in his large one, “That’s wonderful, Draco. It takes a lot of strength to ask for help and move past all that.”

Draco’s chest fluttered when Potter said his name again. 

“I also saw someone for several years. Even though Voldemort was dead, I still had nightmares almost every night of him hurting the people I love. I would see him out in public, sometimes, and I would literally run. I felt like I was right back there, living it again, that I was fighting for my life. It got to the point that I was afraid to leave my house. That’s when Hermione told me she’d been looking into Mind Healers. She found someone who didn’t fall all over themselves to please me, who wasn’t _honored_-” he said the last word as though it tasted bad, “-to help me. They treated me like a regular client and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“I had a difficult time finding a Healer who would take me. Most wouldn’t even owl me back, and the ones who had the decency to said they weren’t taking new clients. I eventually found someone, and it was like with yours, she was able to see passed who I was and help me. She was actually the one who suggested that I pursue an apprenticeship at Mungo’s. I’m glad she did, I feel like I’m putting good back into the world,” Draco’s cheeks flared. He wasn’t accustomed to being so honest with others.  
Potter seemed to appreciate it though. He pressed his lips to Draco’s temple and stroked his hand over Draco’s hair. Draco couldn’t hold in the sigh that left him; he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he just felt so _safe_ with Potter. He leaned further into Potter’s heat, feeling slightly drowsy. 

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed.”

“Hmm?” 

“That I hit the pause button earlier.”

Draco hummed, “I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little bit, but I suppose you’re right,” he repeated his earlier thought, “Although I may still die, despite what you said,” His expression one of mock seriousness.

Potter snorted. Draco’s chest fluttered again; he liked making Potter laugh. 

They stayed that way for a while longer until Potter pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple, “As much as I don’t want to leave, I probably should.”

Draco sat up reluctantly and they both retrieved their shirts. Draco mourned the sight of Potter’s chest and stomach when his shirt covered them. He slid his arms into his sleeves, only fastening a few buttons. Potter held his hand as they walked to the door and Draco let him out.

He kissed Draco one last time, “See you later,” he murmured against Draco’s lips.

“Later…” Draco trailed off, mind fuzzy.

Potter smiled to himself as he turned and slung his jacket over his shoulder. Draco watched him as he left the building, checking out his ass the entire time. He closed and locked the door, and waited for exactly two minutes before hurrying to the bathroom and jerking himself off. He came with a quiet cry, Potter’s name on his lips.

“Harry,” he breathed. His chest and neck flushed and he shucked off his shirt, feeling overheated. His trousers and underwear followed in favor of pajama bottoms. He splashed his face with water and went to collapse on top of the blankets. 

_What a night._ Thoughts swirled in Draco’s head. Potter-or was it ‘Harry’ now?- and he had shared some quite personal things. Draco felt alright with it, though. He wanted to get to know Harry better. Harry also wanted to fuck him. Draco lay with his arms spread open, hardly believing that evening had actually happened. He’d also said ‘first date’ , which meant there would be a second or third date. Draco rolled onto his side and clutched his pillow, and fell asleep with a warm feeling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was editing this chapter, I decided that I wanted Draco to be demisexual. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, demi people only feel sexual attraction toward others after they have formed an emotional connection with them. The demisexual identity exists on the asexual spectrum, and just like any other sexuality, it differs between people. The emotional connection Draco and Harry have in the books is not a positive one. It is, however, intense. As someone who is demisexual, I don't see my identity represented many places. Though I enjoy these stories, I've never really understood the speed at which characters develop a sexual attraction to each other. I find myself saying "well that was fast" pretty often. I'm _definitely_ not saying that it's wrong to become sexually attracted to someone that you don't know well. It's just not something I identify with. So I thought I'd write the representation I miss. 
> 
> Also, this was the last chapter that I had already written when I started posting. Everything after this will be written from scratch, so there's going to be more time between updates. I do have a couple of other drarry fic ideas outlined right now, so I may go back and forth between Gold and Emerald and those. It won't be too long, though, so don't worry! See y'all soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God! Hello! I live and breathe! It's been a rough time over here. 
> 
> I got a sudden shot of inspiration and decided I was going to push through to finish this fic for you lovely people! Considering its been *counts on fingers* 5 months, well fuck, I'm sorry my dudes. ;A;""
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Harry’s owl returned to Draco’s front window that Sunday. 

_Draco,_

He smiled, they were doing first names now.

_I’m letting you know that my team and I have just had a big break in a case, and I will be gone for most of this week, which means I won’t be able to see you. I’m sorry, I had hoped to make more plans with you. I’ll be back around Friday._

_Harry_

Draco’s smile faded as he read, and disappointment settled into his stomach despite himself. _Don’t be like that, he’ll only be gone six days. You’ll probably see each other this weekend._ Still, he had wanted to see Harry before then. 

Draco had never thought of himself as clingy, if anything, his exes’ main complaints were that he was too distant and they didn’t _really_ know him. But he found himself borderline yearning to see Harry. Now that he had him, he wanted to be near him all the time. His eye roll was self-deprecating

[*]

Draco’s week at work was a hectic one. He felt run ragged, collapsing into bed every night, asleep as his head hit the pillow. The silver lining of this was his exhaustion kept him from thinking about Harry. Mostly. 

On Friday afternoon, his heart leapt when he heard a familiar tapping from his front window. He stroked the owl’s back as he read. It was an invitation for dinner at Grimmauld Place for the next evening. Draco swiftly sent his affirmation, excitement already building. 

[*]

Draco’s knocks were more dull thuds against the ancient front door. Harry’s smiling face greeted him. 

“Hi,” Draco found himself slightly short of breath. Harry’s eyes sparkled like emeralds. 

“Hi yourself,” He opened the door wider and let Draco pass. 

Draco slipped his shoes off before extending the small box he’d been carrying. 

“This is for you,” he cheeks heated as Harry took it from him.

“My birthday isn’t for another ten months,” Harry teased.

Draco blinked, “Wait, when was your birthday?”

“July thirty-first,” he replied, “it was a while before I saw you.”

“Well then, I suppose you could call it a very delayed present,” Draco’s blush deepened with every word he said. 

Harry gave him a lopsided smile, “Thank you.”

He removed the small glass pot that held the drawing salve Draco had made several weeks back. 

“It’s a Muggle salve,” Draco said in response to Harry’s quizzical look, “It contains oils and herbs that accelerate healing and prevent scarring. I-I thought that, um, you could use it for your, ah…” He stuttered over the words, and wanted to shove them all back in his mouth but he couldn’t seem to stop, “I just mean I thought you wouldn’t want another one and I had this.” He all but bit his tongue to stop the stream of words. 

Harry had watched him with an amused expression. He set the pot and box on a small table in the entryway and stepped closer. 

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said softly. 

Draco breathed out a self-conscious laugh. 

Harry held Draco’s chin lightly between his thumb and index finger, his gaze on Draco’s lips.

“Can I kiss you, Draco?”

“I told you that you didn’t have to ask,” Draco felt lightheaded, his own gaze fixed on Harry’s mouth. 

“I know,” and their lips met. 

The kiss was soft at first, Harry’s hand cupped Draco’s cheek. Draco sighed contentedly, but there was a spark in his belly. His mind skipped back to the last time they had kissed and unconsciously kissed Harry harder. 

Harry didn’t seem to mind. He pressed the full length of his body to Draco’s, his body heat making Draco feel like he was on fire. 

He slowly backed Draco against the wall and Draco moaned as Harry took control, angling Draco’s head to deepen the kiss. Draco’s free hand came up to fist in Harry’s shirt. Harry briefly allowed it before pinning his hand to the wall. Draco’s head spun in response to Harry's dominance. Draco was the kind of person who needed to be in control of his life at all times. He’d never had someone take that control away before, and was surprised at how much he liked it. 

Harry moved down the side of Draco’s throat. He sucked a mark where Draco’s neck met his shoulder, making Draco cry out, his hips snapping forward reflexively. Draco moaned as a shock of pleasure shot down his spine when their erections pressed together. Harry growled and pressed Draco’s hips back with his own. His hand left Draco’s wrist and griped the back of his neck as the other slid under his shirt. Draco’s hands flew into Harry’s hair. He held on as Harry began to grind out a slow and steady rhythm, his face again pressed into Draco’s neck. Harry began making small sounds of pleasure, each one driving the heat building in Draco’s belly higher, until he thought he would burn alive.

“Draco,” Harry hissed through his teeth, “_fuck_, Draco.”

Draco moaned loudly at the want in Harry’s voice. The want for him.

Harry dragged his nails down Draco’s stomach until he reached the button on Draco’s trousers. His hips stilled and he tugged on the waistband, “Can I?” he asked, breathing heavily. 

Draco nodded emphatically, “Yes, yes, Merlin, _please_.”

Harry dropped his forehead to Draco’s shoulder with a deep groan. Draco moved his hands from Harry’s hair to his shoulders when Harry pulled back and began to unfasten Draco’s trousers. Harry slid his hand into Draco’s underwear and Draco’s mouth opened in a silent ‘O’ as Harry’s hand wrapped around his cock. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, squeezing his eyes shut as Harry freed his cock. Draco knew from the easy slide of Harry’s hand that he was already leaking profusely. His chest and face flushed with heat and he let out a small moan each time Harry stroked down to his base. Harry moaned against Draco’s mouth and Draco opened his eyes to be engulfed in a kaleidoscope of green and gold. His mind wondered, far away, at the appearance of gold for the second time. He didn't linger on it long.

Harry’s eyes were bright with arousal. Draco dropped his hands to Harry’s zipper and dragged it down. Harry’s movements became jerky when Draco pulled out his cock. It burned with heat just as much as the rest of Harry. Harry let out a sharp sound as Draco matched their strokes. The grip on the back of his neck had begun to tighten to the point of pain when suddenly it was gone and Harry slammed his hand onto the wall near Draco’s head. Draco jumped, startled, but was immediately distracted when Harry moved closer. He took both of their cocks in his large hand and sped up his strokes. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his face in his neck. His hips began to thrust in time with Harry’s movements, rubbing their cocks together, amplifying the pleasure. 

Draco’s moans became more desperate as he approached his climax. Harry wrapped his arm around Draco.

“Are you going to come for me, Draco?” Harry rasped. Draco made a sound in response, so desperate it resembled a sob. 

“Come for me, then, Draco. Come on, come for me and let me hear that beautiful voice.”  
Draco’s pleasure crested, and like a wave it crashed down on him, crying out so loudly he thought he heard it echo down the hallway. His body pulsed as his release spattered his shirt. He felt Harry’s teeth on his neck again, but just as they began to bite down they disappeared, Harry releasing a growl as he shook his head before pulling Draco’s head back to kiss him. Draco felt Harry come, whispering his name. 

They stood with their foreheads pressed together, panting. Draco’s legs were shaking to the point he thought they may give out. Harry noticed and chuckled.

“How about we sit you down?” He pulled away, casting several cleaning charms over them before tucking himself away. Draco did the same and let Harry take his hand and lead him into a living area and onto the sofa. Harry flopped down and pulled Draco after him. Draco lay draped across Harry, his head resting on Harry’s chest. He smiled as he listened to the still rapid thump of his heart. Harry sighed contentedly, idly playing with the hairs at Draco nape. Draco rubbed his hand over Harry’s ribcage, making Harry sigh again. 

“Well. That was...something,” Draco said.

Harry hummed and wrapped both arms around him. Draco scooted up to lay his cheek against his shoulder. Draco closed his eyes and tried to stifle a yawn, not quite succeeding. His adrenaline run had run out and he felt warm and boneless. 

There was a chuckle.

“Why don’t you sleep a bit before we have dinner?” Harry suggested.

Draco nuzzled into Harry’s shirt, “Sounds good.” 

He woke to Harry’s lips on his forehead, voice soft in his ears.

“Draco, we should probably have dinner before it gets too late.”

Draco hummed and stretched like a cat, warm and content. Harry chuckled affectionately.

Draco inserted himself into the cooking process, despite Harry’s protest. _I’m not going to just sit and watch you cook when I can help._ He’d said. _It’ll be ready faster if I help anyway._

Harry’d relented and despite his earlier protest, seemed to enjoy Draco’s help. He began driving Draco mad, brushing against him much closer than necessary, his rough hands lingering on Draco’s back and hips. He’d finally turned around and yanked Harry down for a brief snog after Harry’s breath had brushed the back of his neck for the third time. 

They successfully completed dinner and made amicable conversation as they ate; Harry teased Draco at every opportunity and Draco blushed more deeply every time. 

They got caught up in more kisses as Draco was going to leave. It became heated once again, and Harry told him that if he didn’t go now he might not get out of there until morning. Draco flushed hot at the implication, and as much as he wanted to stay, he knew he wasn’t quite ready to go that far. He left Grimmauld Place with one last peck on Harry’s mouth.  
Draco could not settle down when he returned home; he flitted through the rooms of his flat and hummed distractedly, watered his plants and fed the carnivorous ones. The _tulipa carnivera_, a plant that resembled a Muggle flower called a tulip, but with rows of sharp teeth at the center of its blossom, was particularly snappy. Draco lit the end of a cedar stick and allowed it to smolder before he wound the smoke in a ring around the plant, which then calmly accepted its food. 

He finally felt tired enough to sleep after reorganizing his herb cabinet and having a wank in the shower. He drifted off to images of Harry’s gemstone eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two chapters left, including the epilogue! Yayyyy! And the next chapter is mostly sex....yayyyyy XD I hope you'll stick with me for the end. I think you'll like it. ^_^ xo
> 
> Also, in case you're curious, here's my playlist for this fic:
> 
> Don't stop, Don't speak ~Car Astor  
Potions ~Car Astor (thought it was fitting XD)  
Strawberries and Cigarettes ~Troye Sivan  
Animal ~Troye Sivan  
Gimme ~BANKS  
Look what you're doing to me ~BANKS  
Lovesick ~BANKS  
Go out with you ~BLOXX  
Sea blue ~BLOXX  
Supercut ~Lorde  
Couch ~Eves Karydas  
Black light ~Tyler Glenn  
Graveyard ~Halsey  
Side effects ~Carlie Hanson  
Back in my arms ~Carlie Hanson  
About you ~G Flip  
Straight to my head ~You Me At Six

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Healer Beadle looking like Dr. Erica Hahn from Grey's Anatomy. Only nicer. I have about 4 more chapters drafted but they are in need of serious editing. I'm thinking a weekly update, at least for the next several chapters. I hope you stick around! <3
> 
> Next time: Draco talks to Harry for the first time and tension ensues.


End file.
